Wake Up, Mikey!
by Miss DiNozzo
Summary: "I step out into the hallway and start the trek. Steady now… steady goes it… The floor creaks loudly, and I wince. One wrong move and I'll have five very angry federal agents waving guns in my face. I inwardly sigh. Just another perk of living in a government funded safe house." Mike can't sleep now, but when he can, you can count on Johnny being there to wake him up. NON SLASH.


**Hey Everybody! I think I might put Stage Two on Hiatus for a little while. I kind of lost my muse on that particular storyline, and it might just be the chapter I'm writing, but it is not as satisfying as some of the others have been. Anywho, I just want to say that if you haven't read "The Cocky Undead's" story**_**, Merry Band of Misfits**_**, you need to. The first chapter inspired me to write this story because that one was so good. So, since you all want to get to the without further adieu part, "Without further adieu, let's all enjoy Sauce night!" Or, erhm, I mean, this story…. Not sauce night….**

I groan into the inside of my pillow. I've been lying awake for hours, nursing a nagging headache that just won't quit. Peeking quickly at my clock, I see that time is passing even more slowly than I thought. It's only one in the morning, three hours after I flirted with the idea of going to sleep. _Ha! _Look at me now, still wide awake and bored as hell. I can't take this headache that borders on migraine any longer. Electing to go downstairs and get something from the medicine cabinet, I pull myself out of bed. God, it's cold in here.

I step out into the hallway and start the trek. _Steady now… steady goes it… _The floor creaks loudly, and I wince. One wrong move and I'll have five very angry federal agents waving guns in my face. I inwardly sigh. Just another perk of living in a government funded safe house. After a few moments of silence and (thankfully) a lack of movement, I continue my journey to the staircase. Once I reach the landing, I tiptoe down the stairs and walk with less uncertainty to the dark kitchen.

I place my head in my hands and rest my elbows on the countertop. My head is killing me. I slowly move over to the medicine cabinet and pull out the Advil. I snag a small glass and the illicit orange juice and down the two small pills. I cough quietly into the crook of my arm. Gah, I'd forgotten how nasty those taste. I tuck my hands into my pockets and slip out onto the deck.

The salty ocean air feels good, the slight breeze carrying the scent of the sea. I smile. The way the waves lap onto the shore before the tide comes in is relaxing. It is nice to feel the warmth blanket around me. I wander down off the deck, seeking the welcome sensation of the sand between my toes. I reach the coarse ground and relish the feeling of the grainy substance tickling my feet as I make my way to the shoreline. I roll up the bottom of my pajama bottoms. The water washes up to meet me.

I wade there in the water for god knows how long before exhaustion plagues me. I feel refreshed and rejuvenated, but the exhaustion remains nonetheless. The salty air has cleared my head, or maybe that's the Advil talking, but I haven't got the energy left to decide which one it is. Damn you, pill side effects. I drag myself into the house and stop at the stairs. They taunt me with their steepness and duration. Putting off my going up them, I count the steps: Eight until the first landing, and another eight following that. I groan. This is going to be impossible.

Opting instead for the couch, I stumble over to the living room. I limply drop to the couch, happy to no longer bear the dead weight that my body has become. I stretch out on my side, facing away from the back of the couch, and curl up beneath the burgundy afghan. The soft blanket warms me instantly, and the firm pillows support my head. I am completely and utterly comfortable, and soon enough, I'm asleep.

…

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" I hear him before I see him, and I feel his finger gently prodding my shoulder. I figure that it would be best to ignore him and fake that I'm still sleeping. No one wants to deal with Johnny this early in the morning. But my plan is crushed by the increasing intensity of his pokes.

"Johnny, I swear to god!" I half shout as I flip over and reach up to swat him. He leaps away just in time to miss my threatening hand. I am temporarily blinded by the bright light streaming through the windows, giving Johnny enough time to retaliate. He pulls the blanket off of my body, and just like that, my perfect cocoon is gone. I reach for it in a vain attempt to bring the warmth back to my now shivering body, but Johnny will not surrender his prize. He holds it high, shaking it a little, like a person would tease their dog. He laughs loudly, expecting me to grab at it, but I'm in no mood to play his stupid little game. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of another humiliating failure, I just curl up into as small a ball as possible and try to calm my tremors. The Advil I took last night—or was it this morning?—has worn off, and I'm feeling the effects of another throbbing headache.

"Johnny, give it to me," I demand scratchily. I clear my throat, but it does nothing to soothe the soreness. I didn't know it was possible, but I feel one thousand times worse than I did early this morning, and now I have to throw in putting up with Johnny's shenanigans. I'd give anything if I could just imagine everything away right now.

"Nope," Johnny says proudly. "You have a set schedule, Agent Warren. Get up at an ungodly hour, run for way too long, and get back in time to annoy those of us who just got up. And dude, I'm not being annoyed. Am I really asking that much?" I bury my head in my pillow.

"Just go away!" My shout is muffled by the pillow, so the sound he receives is not as harsh as it would have been otherwise. Why is he always such a child?

"Mikey, I'm wounded," he teases, mocking me. I'm half tempted to reach up and actually slap him, but that would require energy I don't have. I can't even form a coherent response, so I just groan instead.

"Mike?" He questions, this time, seeming genuinely concerned. He kneels next to the couch and looks into my cloudy eyes. "You ok?" The urge to slap him is back, and, even though I have the opportunity, I resist. _No Johnny, I'm not ok. I'm practically dead over here! _How square can he be?

"Stop playing dumb," I mumble in annoyance. He ruffles his hand in my hair,

"I'll take that as a no." His fingers graze my forehead and his hands freeze for a moment before pulling back. "Dude, I think you're running a fever."

"No shit." I close my eyes and nestle my head into the pillows. Johnny pulls away and for a moment I think he's left, but then I feel the afghan draping back over me. It isn't as warm as it was before, but in a moment it will be. I snuggle up against the back of the couch and curl into a ball, and in a moment, I'm nearly back asleep. I'm almost under when I hear Johnny talking.

"Feel better soon, Mikey. Sleep tight."


End file.
